


Acceptance

by Kuukkeli



Series: Miscellaneous [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Body Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/pseuds/Kuukkeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some times things change, whether we like it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://soundcloud.com/crashboombanger/roddy-spark).
> 
> Now I made myself sad... :(
> 
> I think I should be ashamed for writing this but... To be honest, NO REGRETS.

Fear.

It wormed beneath his armor and squeezed his spark, clenching it, spreading its tendrils throughout his body. It paralyzed, nailed, him in place. All he could do was to watch in horror as the mech he loved slowly turned into something hideous.

The mech in front of him whimpered in pain, four strange, whip-like tails on his back writhing, coiling and uncoiling like suffering serpents. “Wing, please. Just... calm down and listen to me, okay?” he managed to say, his voice surprisingly serene, despite his current situation.

“Drift...” the jet said, his voice feeble with fear. He reached out towards the other but flinched right back when Drift lifted his face, the mismatched optics blazing – one bright blue, one sickeningly red. “I can’t do thi—”

“Don’t say that!” the grounder snapped, the tails lashing. “Listen. You _have_ to do this. My spark’s been infected. Soon I’ll turn into _those_ things”, he added, jerking his head towards the dead spark eater not too far away from them. He still had no idea where that thing had come from. They should’ve had all the latest updated readers and radars for life signatures... Oh, right. Spark eaters don’t have one.

Wing sobbed, the gun in his hands clattering against his thighs as he clutched it. It felt so foreign, so alien to hold a firearm, a weapon that your hands, your _body_ hadn’t had the chance to experience ever before. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t, _couldn’t_ , move. He wanted, but couldn’t. He wanted to tell how much he loved Drift, how much he hated to be in this situation. How scared he was.

When nothing happened on Wing’s behalf, the bi-colored mech was starting to lose his patience for both Wing’s inability to take action and his dwindling time. “Wing, please! You have to be strong right now!” Damn, he had very little time left if his fading consciousness and the throbbing, burning pain in his body were any indications. “Remember when you saved my sorry aft from those slavers when we were supposed to free the slaves? Or that time when you decided to fight Braid and his pathetic little minions voluntarily just to keep me safe?” Drift babbled, his voice cracking and faltering. It was becoming very difficult to keep his thoughts straight and clear...

“Drift...” Wing whimpered, tears streaming down his beautiful face freely. He wanted to add ‘Don’t go where I can’t follow.’

“I’m not Drift anymore!” he yelled, “I’m not the mech you loved anymore!”

The words had barely left Drift’s lips when he curled up, his armor starting to shift and re-form, his optics now fully red. He cried out in agony, body set on fire from inside, his appearances taking a whole new shape. He twisted and squirmed, clawed at his own plating, groaning in pain.

“Wing...” he got to say, his optics wide with unspoken, powerful emotions, before the infection took over, wiping his processor from any trace of being a Decepticon, the New Crystal City... It wiped every memory of ever meeting Wing... And it hurt.

Where Drift had been just a minute ago, was now a growling, drooling, starved creature. It was ready for its next meal and there was one right in front of it. It crawled closer.

The white mech hesitated and raised the gun in his hands, aiming dead center at the creature’s head. His hands trembled but he had accepted this. He had to. There was no return. His time with Drift was over.

The spark eater attacked but the gun was in the way and it closed its jaws around the muzzle, claws trying to get a grip from the meal’s edges. Wing pulled the trigger in haste and the charge punched a hole through the spark eater’s mouth, coming out from the back of its head.

The once-Drift’s body twitched, a gurgling ex-vent hissing through its vents as it slumped on the jet’s lap. The gun fell from Wing’s hands and he buried his face into his hands.

His world came crashing down.


End file.
